


Joy Ride

by nerakrose



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Other, extraplanar sex, how do i make it absolutely clear that these are two cosmic beings doing the do, interdimensional sex, non-euclidian sex, non-human sex, there are no penises in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 16:50:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19360876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerakrose/pseuds/nerakrose
Summary: "We're not going to explode.""Eh, maybe not." Crowley shrugged, gesturing. "Might just turn Earth into a black hole, no big deal. No more sushi for you."Aziraphale held out his hand. "Do you trust me?"





	Joy Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed so lay all the blame directly at my feet for this if you like. I take full responsibility.
> 
> To clarify, because I have gotten messages about this: Euclid was a mathematician, and non-Euclidean is a term most commonly used for geometry, particularly geometry which isn't bound by 3 dimensions. I'm using the tag because the sex Crowley and Aziraphale are having is not logical or mathematically correct because it's outside the definition of what's logical and mathematically correct because of who they are. The tag does _not_ in any way refer to an obscure homophobic essay, and I won't deign to link to it either. Homophobes can suck it, this is our term now.

The South Downs were lovely, if you were into that sort of thing. Crowly was probably into that sort of thing. He was there, wasn't he? Aziraphale in the seat next to him, the Bentley purring along the road, and the landscape out there. 

A _quiet_ Aziraphale. Maybe he was peckish. That wouldn't be unlike him.

"What's on your mind, Angel?" Crowley parked the car on top of a white cliff, pointing it towards the sea. He turned the key in the ignition (environment and all. Blasted humans.) France was on the other side there somewhere.

"I was just thinking about The Body Swap," Aziraphale said, a thoughtful line or two around his mouth. "It...tickled. No, that's not the right word for it."

"It tickled in the same way the asphalt scorches when you brake too hard."

Aziraphale frowned. "No, it was nicer than that."

"Have you met _any_ humans?" Crowley said. "I invented tickling. It's not nice."

"Oh. Well—I was just thinking about it."

"Thinking of rubbing, were you." Crowley looked out the windshield again, hands still firmly on the steering wheel. 

He'd been thinking about The Body Swap too, though not for the same reasons. Entirely. Spend six thousand years in one body, and wearing another, if only for twenty four hours, was bound to feel _weird_. It hadn't fit right. It hadn't moved right. There hadn't even been any lingering sense of Aziraphale in it, since it'd been made for him brand new by Adam just a few hours earlier, so Crowley hadn't been able to take comfort even in that—

"Rubbing," Crowley repeated, when Aziraphale didn't answer.

"Yes," Aziraphale finally said. "Only, I thought we might do the whole thing."

Crowley tipped his sunglasses down to give Aziraphale a Look.

"You know what I mean," Aziraphale continued. "Can't I tempt you even a _little_ bit? Just a little friction?"

"It's not temptation that's the problem," Crowley said, sliding his sunglasses back up.

"We're not going to explode."

"Eh, maybe not." Crowley shrugged, gesturing. "Might just turn Earth into a black hole, no big deal. No more sushi for you."

Aziraphale held out his hand. "Do you trust me?"

How easy would it have been to say _of course I trust you, you're an angel_? Crowley didn't hesitate as such, just took his time. Not the same thing.

The thing was. Six thousand years in these bodies, and Crowley had become very good at reading Aziraphale's human-looking face. He couldn't really speak for the two minutes he'd spent with Aziraphale's discorporated form, and not only because he'd been pissed six ways to Sunday, but he'd _glimpsed_ him when they did The Swap, and that had been...almost like looking at a completely different being. Not a stranger—Aziraphale could never really be a stranger to him—but he'd been unfamiliar in an unsettling way that had made him hard to read.

And then Aziraphale had been looking at him through Crowley's eyes and readability went out the window.

"We're doing this _in the car_?" Was what Crowley eventually said, making a point of looking at the backseat.

"Don't be ridiculous. It'll be transdimensional, and you know it. The car will be fine." Aziraphale could be very patient until he wasn't patient anymore. This didn't feel like one of those times. Crowley was certain they could sit there for three hundred years and Aziraphale would still be patient.

"Not a _single atom_ out of place," Crowley warned, and took Aziraphale's hand.

They didn't explode. Actually, at first nothing happened, or seemed to not happen, like all they'd done was hold hands like humans, and the cliff was still below them and the sky above them, England behind them and the wide open sea ahead—but then the sea shimmered, just so, and...it _tickled_. There really wasn't another word for it.

It wasn't at all like Falling, and it wasn't really rubbing, and there wasn't any human vocabulary that could really describe what was going on inside Crowley, or outside him, or in between him, or—or—well. Maybe if he'd still been in his human body he could've smelled the ozone, but he didn't have eyes anymore. No, that wasn't right. He did have eyes, thirty of them, thirty million of them, and none, and his wings touched the atmosphere and reached into the earth, and he breathed—didn't breathe—breathed in the clouds.

It'd be wrong to say that he'd melded with Aziraphale, because that wasn't really what was happening—or maybe it was—it felt (if he could say that it felt like anything at all) like he was swimming on the surface of the sun, but that wasn't right either. Aziraphale was there, somewhere around him, with his four hundred faces and six million fingers and wings made of essence and a soul made of dark matter, and he wasn't speaking so much as manipulating photons.

That was when It happened. It wasn't like Falling, because it wasn't like being pushed, it was like letting go. It was allowing, it was wanting, it was consent on a plane so high God had never heard of it, and Crowley was diving into it, taking Aziraphale with him. As far as the angel would go, Crowley would take him. Aziraphale's hands (Which hands? Which limbs?) were his hands, his wings were his wings, his soul was his soul, and England was no longer behind them, and Crowley was following Aziraphale across the universe.

 _I told you we wouldn't explode_. The sentiment carried through every spark of Crowley's conjoined extraplanar existence and as they laughed the stars twinkled, and somewhere, somehow, the sheer joy of it generated a whole new galaxy into being.

Quarks rearranged themselves, electricity sparked and thunder cracked, and Aziraphale let Crowley gently back into his body, and the sea shimmered in front of them. There was a hint of ozone in the air and Crowley thought maybe his collar smelled a little singed, but then he looked at Aziraphale—and Aziraphale looked back, and Crowley saw past the human face.

For a moment it was as if Aziraphale's angel form was superimposed on his human form, like those nifty little holographic bookmarks that the humans liked so much—turn them one way and they show one image, turn them another way, and there's another image—but then Aziraphale settled back into himself.

There wasn't a single atom out of place. Crowley rolled the windows down to let the ozone out, but only really succeeded in letting more ozone _in_. "The meteorologists are going to have a field day with that one," he said.

Aziraphale was smugness personified. He was also maybe glowing a bit around the edges. "I fancy a bit of dessert. Shall we—"

"What, after _that_?" Crowley paused, hand hovering just above the ignition.

The infuriating thing was that Crowley could still read Aziraphale perfectly well (if not better than ever), and what Aziraphale's face was saying was _please_. It was also saying a few other things that Crowley was going to need at least a century to process before acting on (again), so he just turned the key and pointed the car towards Dover.

"I didn't say—"

"Oh, yes you did, Angel." Crowley could be smug too.


End file.
